


Weekend Pancake Report

by Gracefulasheck



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Adorable, Cute, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, No Angst, No Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 16:21:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5340575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gracefulasheck/pseuds/Gracefulasheck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank wakes one morning to find Gerard in his now very messy kitchen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weekend Pancake Report

**Author's Note:**

> My first fanfiction for this fandom. Don't kill me!

I woke up to the sun peeking through the windows. “Gerard….” I mumbled, turning over. My hands felt the other side of the bed, looking for a body to rest on. The bed was empty. I groaned but got up to get dressed.

I shivered in the frigid air as I rubbed my eyes and stumbled out of the bedroom, down the hallway. I made my way into the kitchen with my eyes closed, where it was considerably warmer. I wanted to make coffee before I went to find Gerard.

Alas, I realized that it would be perhaps a bit easier to do that than I originally thought. 

I opened my eyes, finding a kitchen that looked similar to a disaster area. “Gerard…” I mumbled. Cooking utensils and flour and batter were all over the counters. And, yes, flour was on the counters, but most of the spilled ingredient concentrated on Gerard...and the floor. Gerard looked like the mother fucking masterpiece of the room, and even that is a little bit of an understatement. He stood in the middle of the room, a little to the side, and put his hands up like he was surrendering when he saw me. Surrendering the war of pancakes perhaps. The white ingredient was in his hair, on his clothes, probably on his skin. I mean, he’s so pale, he basically blended in with it. 

“Oh…. Hi Frank!” He said. “What…. What the actual hell?” I started. “I know…” Gerard smiled and cocked his head, thinking. “I should explain…” “That would be a good idea.” I interrupted. “Yeah. That’s why I said it.” Gerard laughed. He stopped smiling, and lowered his hands. “So…. I don’t really know how to cook.” He trailed off. “I would never have been able to guess.” My voice was dripping with sarcasm. He raised an eyebrow, as if he was surprised at me. “Right. So if you knew that you don’t know how to cook, then why’d you try?” I sat down on the kitchen table, glad for the warm(ish) sunlight passing through a window directly across. Gerard scooted a little closer to me and into the sunlight, using the balls of his feet to make him bounce up and down a little. “I was trying to make you breakfast.” He frowned. “Apparently, all I can make is coffee.” I shook my head, biting my tongue to keep from laughing. “Besides, I assumed that I’d gotten better since the last time I tried.” Gerard stopped talking, no doubt thinking of some horrific cooking failure that I knew I didn’t want to know about. “You thought…. that you’d gotten better without practice.” I confirmed. “Well…yeah.” “Gerard…” I sighed yet again, contemplating how many different tones of voice I could use to say his name. “Our career choices are entirely based on the depressing fact that if you don’t practice, you don’t get better.” I continued, combing through my messy hair with my hand. “This isn’t playing the guitar, or any other instrument for that matter, though.” I looked up to see Gerard shuffling forward a little more. “Same thing with singing. Stop trying to disprove my point.” I frowned a little, focusing on Gerard, trying to figure out what he was doing before my body took control and jumped up, leaving Gerard to pounce on empty air. I could see the flour particles swimming through the sunlight. 

“Unfair. You weren’t supposed to move!” Gerard pouted. “Sorry. But you are not touching me. You are covered in flour.” “That’s the point!” Gerard tried grabbing me again, but I dodged. At this, he pouted even more. “It’s just a little bit of flour…and a batter type of thing. I – I don’t really know what it is.” Gerard stopped, contemplating just what he did to the flour. “Yes! A little bit of WHITE flour.” I said once I had successfully maneuvered to the other side of the kitchen. “And I am wearing all black clothing. Think about that.” I cringed at the thought of the fine white powder, or any fine white powder, covering my clothes down to my socks and my just as dark hair. The thought was worse than cat hair. I realized, too late, that I had doomed myself to the fate I was thinking about because I had stopped moving. 

I tried to slide past Gerard, but he grabbed my wrist and we both fell to the floor. Gerard was giggling hysterically; glad he had finally caught me. “Ugggg….” I moaned. “You are going to clean this up. right?” I hid my face in the crook of his neck. I yawned as the energy rush I’d felt while Gerard was trying to catch me wore off. Gerard’s arms were warm and comforting, almost like the bed I had left for this to happen. “Your hair looks like you’re in the black parade.” I mumbled, thinking that Gerard ought to know. “Hopefully not as white though.” His breath tickled me. He pulled me close to his face, so close that his nose and mine were touching. “I’m really sorry about the mess.” He whispered. “But not about making me look like a snowman?” I tried for the sassiest tone I could. “Not really.” He closed the already small gap between us. 

The kiss was electrifying. Different than any of Gerard’s other kisses. And trust me, I had experienced a lot of Gerard way’s kisses. The scene was perfect. The yellow sunlight pouring in from the window. The flour covering most of us, the same stuff that even made an appearance on Gerard’s lips. The way we just laid on the floor, neither of us really caring. And the way Gerard was just so laid back and relaxed, like anything could have happened and he’d be okay with it because we had had this moment. He pulled back, but wrapped his arms around my shoulders. “How about you fix the mistake I called breakfast, and I clean up the mistake I called breakfast.” He suggested. “Deal.” I said breathlessly, but neither of us made a move to get up. “You know…you know that your hair now looks like mine.” Gerard told me, standing. “Like I’m the leader of death?” I asked, taking the hand he offered me. “Welcome to the black parade.” He said. I shook my head, reaching my hands up and raking them through Gerard’s hair, returning it to its current vibrant state. “So…you were trying to make pancakes.” I turned and looked at the stove. “Yeah… but I realized that pancakes are way too commercialized…” He gave a smirk that I couldn’t quite replicate.


End file.
